


And if I Stay

by ouroboros



Category: Predator Series
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blood As Lube, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Knotting, Language Barrier, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, POV Monster, Post-Apocalypse, Rough Sex, Scratching, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6574171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroboros/pseuds/ouroboros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“What are you waiting for?” Cam asked him. Kwei wondered if he knew what he’d been thinking, if that question meant <i>Fuck me</i> or <i>Kill me.</i></i><br/>(Kwei attempts to prove himself in the Hunt. It does not go as he'd planned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And if I Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danaste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danaste/gifts).



> Kwei is a Yautja youngblood participating in the Hunt.  
> Cam is a human, caught in the crossfire, with a definite xeno kink.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing Predator porn!  
> I'm not sure if you're into movie canon or otherwise, but since I went with Yautja POV, I used some of their words (there's a glossary in the [xenopedia](http://avp.wikia.com/wiki/Yautja_language)). This includes Yautja names, and the fact that they call humans "Oomans."  
> Thanks to The Demogorgon for coming up with the Yautja word for "dick," which is: "nok - Unit of measurement (equivalent to 13 inches)."  
> Thank you to [Kaiosea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea) for the beta.

“Let’s get this off you,” Cam said, reaching up tug at Kwei’s bio-mask. Now that they’d found shelter in a cave, there were other things that needed addressing, like the cut on Kwei’s side, or the fact that his wristpad was beeping slowly, steadily, with the incoming message that time was running out for him to make his kill and get back to his ship. And yet it was the mask Cam was focusing on.

Kwei let Cam struggle with it for a bit before lifting his own hand up to press the release button. 

“Oh,” Cam said, “Of course it’s got to be high tech.” His mouth pulled up at the corners, and so did an eyebrow.

Kwei didn’t know what to expect out of Cam’s reaction to his face. He considered himself relatively attractive. His body was built and toned for the hunt, his eyes were sharp and cunning, his mandibles long and teeth pointed.

He didn’t know the Ooman standards for beauty, had never considered it until a few Earth rotations ago. But Cam was pleasing to look at. His heat signature was stable-- a core of red at the center of his body, splaying steadily outward to orange, yellow, green. It was his evenness that had drawn Kwei to him in the first place. 

He’d looked at Cam in other wavelengths, clicking through different options, trying to gauge his weaknesses. But it was the calm, bright flare of heat Cam had given off in infrared that made Kwei want to inspect him further. It was different than other Oomans’ discordant, jumpy, nervous heat signatures. 

It was lucky for Kwei that he had noticed, too. He wouldn’t have survived the initial hunt without him.

~~~

The first time Kwei had seen Cam was just a couple of Earth rotations prior. It had been across a river in the bottom of what Kwei’s assignment intel had told him was called (in Ooman English) Yosemite Valley. 

The Hunt was different for every cohort of Youngbloods. R’ka-Guan, who had been Kwei’s… he couldn’t call him a mate, since he wasn’t female, but there wasn’t officially a word for the Yautja boy you fucked secretly in dark corners while you waited for Hunt assignments and tried your best to be worthy of them instead of afraid. 

R’ka-Guan had tested himself against the _Kiande Amedha_ , what Oomans called Xenomorphs. He had come home from his Hunt cold, a hole in his chest where the creature had burst through. There had been honor in that death, Kwei had tried to remind himself for the thousandth time as he inspected his new, Earthly surroundings. 

Kwei recalled the details of his Hunt assignment as he tested the soft, damp ground with the balls of his feet. It would be against Oomans. He’d first thought that the clan leaders had given him a soft assignment. But they had explained to his gathered cohort of Youngbloods as they prepared themselves: “The Oomans are experiencing a massive shift in climate. Their societies have collapsed, the atmospheric conditions will be challenging, and the Oomans will be desperate. Desperation makes the Ooman violent. They will want to taste blood. Make sure it is not yours.”

As soon as his feet touched the Earth, the clock on his wristpad started counting down the time he had to prove himself. It had not been much longer (he had not even had time to get a temperature reading) before the Ooman--before _Cam_ , though he hadn’t known his name, then--had come running out of the forest and into a clearing just ten noks away from Kwei, followed promptly by six more Oomans.

Kwei had never seen an actual Ooman in person before, aside from autopsied specimens. He’d been trained for as long as he could remember for this encounter, but somehow all of it hadn’t prepared him for the moment itself. He’d expected to build a refuge, to assess Oomans from afar, making a trophy selection based on careful research, and then move in for the kill.

The training had been in how to incite battle, not drop down in the middle of it. So when he saw Cam--straight-backed, calm and imposing despite the armed Oomans surrounding him--he’d expected to see his first death. But Cam had yelled at the Oomans chasing him (Kwei hadn’t listened enough to be able to parse it, yet). His voice was smooth in a way Kwei had known must be commanding; the others froze where they stood watching.

The Ooman didn’t have a high chance of surviving whatever encounter he’d found himself in, but Kwei took data on him just in case. He’d come up to Kwei’s shoulder. He was lithe and muscular, but not wide, with hair longer than the images of Ooman males Kwei had seen, and tied up at the nape of his neck. No illness or other reason to hold back. His pulse, unlike those of the other Oomans was an unwavering, steady beat.

Kwei crept closer, taking every precaution to not be heard, but Cam paused, had turned away from those hunting him (a tactical mistake, surely) to stare at the empty space where Kwei was perched, silent, in a tree. Cam’s eyes went wide, his lower lip caught in his teeth.

Kwei had his invisibility shield up, but Cam looked right where he was. A flare of bright heat thumped through Cam's body once before evening out. He turned back to his crowd. Teeth bared, head cocked to one side, ready.

One of the six then opened fire, and the rest of it happened quickly. Cam tucked his body into a ball and rolled directly at him, taking him down by the legs. Cam had no weapon, and then, with a well executed kick and a snap of neck, he did. The other five went down in a haze of gunfire.

When Cam had turned, blood spattered and heaving, to face where Kwei had been standing, he’d tossed his head, shaking his hair loose. He was scanning the trees for signs of movement where he had seen, or heard, Kwei before. 

His back was to the bodies when one of them, not yet dead, raised a shaking, bloodied arm, aiming at the back of Cam’s head.

Kwei saw it, Cam didn’t. The spear flew from his hand before he could consider his options, and the Ooman dropped his weapon, pinned to the earth and gurgling.

Cam’s eyes were so big as he followed its trajectory. He stepped once toward the trees where Kwei was hiding, but then Kwei was gone, running, mind racing.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to _work_. If an Ooman got taken out by another Ooman, they weren’t worthy. They weren’t the one to Hunt. But Kwei had reacted on instinct, not ready to see this one die. He wanted...something. It was a discomfiting feeling. He scaled a tall tree and tried to regather his calm.

He had heard that identifying worthy prey would be a rush, but he’d expected it to feel...cleaner. Angrier, maybe. Not the same thumping shift of muscle and pulse that accompanied other sensations and memories.

Unbidden, his mind had shifted to his last time with R’ka-Guan. It had been outside, the night before R’ka-Guan left for his own Hunt. The rough, fumbling way they’d fucked was no different than any other time; grinding into each other, Kwei eventually hooking his nok inside R’ka-Guan, holding him down by his arms, his tresses, clawing at each other until they finished and could disengage. 

After, they’d lain beside each other, catching their breath, the whole sky open above them.

“Do you think it will be different, when you return?” Kwei asked.

“What, our coupling?” R’ka-Guan responded, his mandibles clicking together teasingly.

Kwei kicked his foot, clicking back. “You know what I mean”

“It will have to be, Kwei. I’ll be Blooded. Everything will be different.”

It was the last thing R’ka-Guan had said to him. They’d stayed awake, not speaking about how most Youngbloods did not return, not speaking about how, even if R’ka-Guan survived, he’d be expected to mate with a Blooded female.

 

Now on Earth, Kwei shook his head, his tresses hitting his shoulders. He was supposed to be past that, now. He was going to be Blooded, himself. 

Kwei checked his wristpad. He had plenty of time to make a kill and get back to the ship, but the process of checking grounded him. He was trying to shake the memory of R’ka-Guan, and with it, the long, slow, slide of the Ooman’s eyes up his body, when an explosion rang out behind him (one of his cohort must already be making a kill, or, at least, an enemy). And then everything was chaos.

~~~

Kwei had met other Oomans and dispatched with them distractedly. They were hungry, angry, and engaged in bitter territory dispute over what was left of their land. Kwei could tell it had once been beautiful. 

But fighting them, watching them, didn’t give him the same rush as watching Cam had. 

When he had seen him again, Cam had Kwei’s spear in his hands, and both of them were bleeding. Kwei considered leaving his invisibility shield up, but he didn’t. Part of him wanted to see what would happen when the Ooman could see him, properly. Maybe it would be a worthy fight.

Instead, Cam walked directly up to him, heat signature flaring slightly at the neck, and held out the spear. “This yours?” he said.

Kwei took it. He wondered if the Ooman would move at all if he stabbed him, right then. He had pictured it, over and over.

He didn’t do it.

The Ooman patted his own chest with a broad hand. “Cam,” he said. Then, looking behind him, and back at Kwei, “We’re going to need to move.”

After that, they were a team. Cam was on a hunt of his own, at the heart of the mess troubling the Ooman race. They worked quietly and seamlessly, on their own missions, circling round each other in a delicate, tentative alliance. They killed for each other when needed.

Every time Cam’s ear heard a threat at the same time Kwei’s did, every time he pushed back his hair from his face, every time he stepped in close to say the name of a weapon, a tree, a direction in Ooman English and get Kwei to repeat it, Kwei’s pulse rose. 

These were his openings, and he was not taking them.

~~~

A hiss of release, a slight puff of steam, and the bio-mask was off. Everything was shades of red, but up close, at least, Cam’s face was detailed. Kwei knew he’d have to rely more on his other senses, without the specific Ooman atmospheric details the bio-mask defined for him. He found himself wanting to touch Cam, to breathe in his briny-warm scent without a filter. 

Kwei observed him, maskless. Cam turned his head down, averting his eyes and shaking a breath out through his teeth. This was new. An embarrassment reaction? 

Kwei didn’t let himself hope for anything different. He shifted his body forward a bit, crowding Cam into response. He didn’t often attempt Ooman English. There had been the first few times, signalling an alliance in basic phrases: “Take my hand,” “Hide,” “Come Here.” And, since, the exchange of names, of directions and simple questions.

“Well?” Kwei asked, leaning in, and Cam’s face snapped back to him at the sound of his own language. “What do you think?”

Cam pinned his lower lip in his teeth. A sign of consideration, perhaps, or hunger? A low, smooth sound came from him, and he ran a finger down the side of Kwei’s mandible. 

Kwei shuddered at the touch. It was effective, stubby and clawless as it was, sending shivers down his neck. 

“What can you do with it?” Cam answered, walking a few paces backward, pulling Kwei with him with a finger hooked in the mesh of Kwei’s shirt until his back hit the stone wall of the cave. Kwei leaned over him, fists against the granite, feet splayed on either side of Cam’s stance. It was surely a tactical misstep on Cam’s part, letting himself be cornered. Kwei felt wholly aware of his body, every muscle on alert.

Kwei could feel the heat emanating from Cam, bio-mask or no. And with his scent glands exposed, the heady salt smell of the Ooman rushed through him. Breathing was suddenly difficult. All the years of learning what it meant to conquer just one worthy foe were stomping their way across his brain, trying to force back the scent of the Ooman. Because ever since he was small, he’d been fed the same lessons, the same drills: Assess the situation. Isolate the most worthy. Kill everyone that gets in the way. Claim what fights back hardest and take them as your prize.

Cam, intelligent and fast and brave, could be a prize he’d be lauded for for the rest of his life. It would be easy, with his head tilted back like this, neck exposed, pulse thumping quicker than ever beneath that soft, weak layer of Ooman skin. He could slice once with a clawed fist. That would end it. Everything he’d ever known was signaling him to attack. 

“What are you waiting for?” Cam asked him. Kwei wondered if he knew what he’d been thinking, and if that question meant _Fuck me_ or _Kill me._

Kwei answered with a hand around Cam’s throat and his groin pressed against Cam’s. He wasn’t so presumptuous to assume that the Ooman pleasure center would be located between the legs as well, but, oh, Cam’s body arched, and his mouth opened and eyes slid closed. “There you go.” Cam ground back, and Kwei was sure.

He clawed at Cam’s clothing. It was unnecessarily complicated, with circular attachments looped through holes, and strange metal barriers that were too fiddly for Kwei’s large fingers, dexterous as they were. 

“Slow down, big guy,” Cam said in that low, throaty rumble again, despite the fact that Kwei’s claws had caught his skin, making him bleed through holes in the material. He pulled the pieces of clothing over his head, or down his legs. They weren’t simple, easily bypassed flaps of leather armor, like Kwei’s own. He was impatient to see what was underneath. 

Fully unclothed, panting hard on the floor of the cave with Kwei kneeling, a leg on either side of him, Cam, was...there was a word, Kwei knew there had to be. 

“What is this?” he asked, testing out his Ooman English again, spreading his hands over Cam’s smooth, well muscled skin.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘naked’,” Cam said, pushing his long hair out of his face and propping himself up with his hand. 

“Naked.” Kwei filed it away, and dragged his hands down the taut plane of Cam’s chest, dusted with dark, tight curls that spread out toward two dark--

“Nipples,” Cam supplied the word.

Kwei clicked his assent and continued his slow, detailed catalogue of Cam’s body as he crawled down it. Like a test he would not allow himself to cheat on, he did not peek downward until he’d finished running his hands down the shifting abdominal muscles, touched the soft, strange fluffs of hair under Cam’s arms, and traced his claw, perhaps a bit too roughly (according to the hiss of breath and slick beads of blood that followed the trail of it) down the fine hairs toward his groin. 

He cleaned the blood as best he could with his tongue, but the claws at the corners of his mandible just scratched more lines in Cam’s fragile skin. The smell of it, tinged with metal and his memories of victory, and of death, made him dizzy.

Finally feeling worth the honor, and the risk, he let himself look down at Cam’s nok. It was flushed hotter than the rest of him, and slightly slick. Considerably smaller than Kwei’s, and smooth, not ribbed at all. Kwei wondered how Oomans kept their noks inside a mate long enough to reproduce without any way to attach themselves. Still, it looked like it would be a pleasant heft in his hand or mouth.

“And that’s my cock,” Cam said, running a hand up Kwei’s arm.

Kwei filed the word away, and reached toward it. And then his wristpad started to beep. 

His attention, which had been focused on this single thing, just _touching_ , shifted. A cold list of facts gathered: The clan leaders on the ship hovering just above Earth’s atmosphere were trying to signal him. Time was almost up. He should have proven himself worthy or died trying. 

Instead, he was clicking slow and hungry in the ear of a Ooman whose insistent hands were running up and down his chest. His own hand was inches from an extremely tantalizing discovery. His nok was pushing his loincloth aside.

It was a moment of choice. He’d been trained to recognize them since he was a child, though never one like this. He’d been taught that when you’re cornered, enemies on all sides, no chance of escape, you have an out. It’s not dishonorable to push the button that would end it all. There’s a certain point of pride in having gotten that far, to be considered enough of a threat to have enough enemies corner you, making escape impossible. And taking the prey out with you, even if you go out in a flare of searing heat and light, is an honor in itself. You’ll be remembered for it.

But the Ooman’s hair was damp with sweat (a liquid Oomans emit through the skin when under duress, exposed to extreme heat, or---Kwei’s new favorite--during strenuous movement), and it was gathering into curls that rested gently against the hard muscle of his chest. 

_Pretty_. That might be the Ooman English word for it, Kwei thought. He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wanted it, in his maw, in his claws. 

“Well?” Cam asked. The wristpad continued to beep.

If he stayed, he’d be an _Ic’jit_ , a Bad Blood, a traitor. If he left, he’d have to kill Cam, or worse, return empty handed to a place with not much left for him. Kwei breathed in.

There was an undulation of hips, a deep guttural rumble of pleasure, and a spark of mechanical failure as Kwei’s claws dug into the wristpad, fracturing the screen as he ripped it off of his arm and flung it against the ground. It was an answer to Cam, to the Clan Leaders, and to R’ka-Guan, if he was listening. Kwei rolled his hips, and Cam responded sweetly, Oomanly soft and ready beneath him. He wrapped his hand around Cam’s cock. 

It was good, having someone shudder under his hands in a way he hadn’t felt since R’ka-Guan. Since landing on Earth, Kwei had learned the shake of a final breath, of life leaving a body between his clenched fingers, but watching this Ooman, watching… _Cam_ heave and shiver under him, was a different kind of power. It turned his own limbs shaky. 

Finished with waiting, he pressed Cam into the ground, himself against Cam, grinding and biting and allowing himself to touch and taste and claw until Cam pushed at his shoulders, calling the haze around his mind into clarity. He pulled back, each muscle poised to press down again as soon as he was bidden. 

“This needs to go,” Cam said, and tugged at Kwei’s loincloth. 

He stripped himself of it, and his shoulder armor as well. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

This was a phrase he’d heard Oomans say, usually with their first look at Kwei, or upon sight of death. It had meant terror. But now as Cam wrapped a tentative hand around his nok, it felt like awe. It pulled at a small, tender place in him.

“I’m gonna need some…” Cam stopped running his hand up the length of it, fingers paused just under the hooded tip, and looked around the floor of the cave. Kwei sat himself up on his haunches above him, watching, curious.

“Wait, wait,” Cam said, dipping his fingers in Kwei’s blood that had dripped from the cut on his side and pooled in the indentation by his hipbone. It strung between his fingers, viscous and smooth. “This’ll work,” he said, and reached behind himself. 

Kwei cocked his head, which must have been a signal Oomans understood, because Cam answered, “It’ll, _aaahhh_ , help open me up. It’ll help you fit.”

Kwei didn’t know what anatomical barriers lay in front of him, even as Cam spread his legs under him, plying himself open with his fingers. Kwei was afraid, at first, of it being too much. Cam’s fragile Ooman body shuddered as the tip of Kwei’s nok pressed against his opening, slick with Kwei’s own blood.

Cam nodded, the Ooman signal for “yes,” and Kwei didn’t need more than that. He slid into him, slow at first, and with each grunt and rock of hips, deeper. It was different than it had been before, with R’ka-Guan. Tight and hot, almost painfully so, but he pushed into him anyway. Eventually he was deep enough to take root, and Cam called out beneath him. 

“ _Fuck_ , I can feel your cock--your-- _you_ everywhere,”

A purr of pleasure sounded in Kwei’s throat, and he dug the claws of one hand into Cam’s shoulder, wrapping his other hand more gently around his cock. Kwei knew some of the words Cam said, but others he didn’t. He half-memorized them as he fucked back until the words became unintelligible, except for “yes.” 

Cam’s cock jerked, and his strange, alien features blew beautifully, helplessly open. A paltry amount of come shot onto Kwei’s hand. He licked it off his fingers, and Cam’s mouth pulled up shakily at the corners.

Kwei slammed into him harder. He was incapable of stopping now that he’d seen him like this. Cam held on, loose fingers grabbing at the netting of Kwei’s clothing as he ground into him. When release came, it was rough and unhinged. He clamped his mandibles around Cam’s shoulder, piercing four pretty holes into him as come gushed into Cam and down his thighs.

He gently pulled himself out of Cam and settled beside him. 

“Jesus Christ,” Cam said again, and tucked a leg around Kwei’s.

Immediately, the reality of the situation set in. Kwei shuddered, dizzy with the choices he’d made. Instead of panicking about being stranded and being a Bad Blood, he ran through a list of Ooman English words he knew. Tactical words were sharp in his mind: _Gun, knife, hide, blood, run_ , some of the first he’d learned. Then, newer ones, specific to Cam: _Please, harder, god, cock, fuck._ He liked the way they felt in his mouth. He liked the way _Cam_ felt, loose and spent and Ooman-soft in his hands.

When the ship took off, Kwei could feel the vibration in his guts. He knew, as the shivers up his spine stilled, that it was gone.

Home now was the shaking, changing surface of Earth, and the sleepy arms of the Ooman tucked against his side. It was terrifying and new. But Cam puckered his mouth against the corner of where Kwei’s mandible folded in, and curled his body against him. Kwei tucked his hand softly into the sweat-damp hair at the base of Cam’s skull and pulled his head closer. Aware of comfort on rough terrain, he shifted their bodies until his back was against the rocky ground, pulling Cam on top of him. His pulse made a softly slowing counter-rhythm to Kwei’s own syncopated thrum. 

“Jesus Christ,” Kwei tested, and Cam made the low, rumbly pleasure sound again. Kwei would have to ask him, in the morning, what the word for it was. For now, with a hand in Cam’s hair and his other tracing the long scratches he’d made in his back, Kwei settled in to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So when I was researching for this, I learned that when they were filming the movies, they mixed KY jelly and glowstick innards to make the bright green Predator blood. This was the most delightful trivia I'd ever heard, so I had to incorporate it into the story somehow, which is why you have blood as lube. Hope that's cool.


End file.
